


The Agent

by arrowsong



Series: Ghosts That We Knew [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Criminal Minds, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-05
Updated: 2015-05-05
Packaged: 2018-03-29 03:36:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3880729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arrowsong/pseuds/arrowsong
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Just back from their case in Indiana, the BAU are out to blow off some steam when they come across three army veterans out for a guys night at their usual hang out.  Deciding to encourage some inter agency cooperation, they invite the trio to join them.  As the two groups get to know each other better some secrets are brought to light, some that Charlie has spent a life time trying to forget.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Agent

Sitting on a back turned chair at one of the corner booths in the dimly lit bar, Charlie lost herself in the conversation and music blaring over the speaker system.  The BAU returned to Qunatico fresh from their case in Indiana when Morgan suggested they regroup, and go out to blow off steam.  So, two hours later there they were, Prentiss, Reid, Hotch and Beth, Garcia and Morgan, JJ and Will, Rossi, and Charlie sitting in a cramped corner booth, enjoying several hard earned drinks. 

The BAU off the clock was always a rare sight to behold.  Not that the term ‘relax’ was actually in their vernacular.  Even when they weren’t hunting societies answer to the question of monsters, they found a way of taking them with them, usually by talking about them in their day to day life, even going so far as to turning them into a drinking game.  Who knew how the game started all those years ago, whether it was Morgan’s way of flirting and teasing academy trainees or if it was Reid and Rhys’ way of showing off their equally impressive memories.  No matter how it got its start, ‘name that killer’ still remained their favourite drinking game.

“Paul Bernardo and Karla Homolka,” shouted Spencer, slamming his palm on the table, gleeful that he managed to beat Charlie and Rossi to the answer.  “Drink!” he taunted sitting smugly in his chair.

“Yeah, yeah,” Charlie shot back, “we’ll see how smug you are by the end of the game there, little brother,” she added before taking a sip from her bottle.  “I’ll catch up to you – I always do.”

“You guys sure have a strange idea of fun,” laughed Beth after finishing a shot of tequila.

“You mean normal people don’t sit around naming and identifying serial killers based on abstract details?” asked Emily feigning surprise.  “How odd?”

“As much as I would love to watch Charlie make Reid her bitch again, I agree with Beth," Garcia announced.  "Can we lighten up on the icky for a night.  I would like to actually enjoy the fact that my signature brand of stud muffin is finally back in my loving arms, and serial killers are so not sexy.”

“No, but they are,” Emily tilted her head in the direction of the door where three men walked through the door.   Their backs remained turned to the group as they hunted for a table in the busy bar.  Without seeing their faces all they could tell was that all three men had equally impressive physiques.  “Come to momma,” Prentiss let out a low whistle, jostling Charlie lightly in the ribs.

“You should go talk to them,” suggested JJ, giving Charlie a bump of her shoulder and flirtatious smile.

“Yeah right,” scoffed Charlie taking another sip, toying with the near empty bottle in her hands. 

“Seriously, when was the last time you even had a date?” Morgan asked, leaning forward from his seat in the booth. 

“I had a hot date just last weekend," countered Charlie quickly.   "We never even left the bedroom.” She purred and lifted her brows in Morgan’s direction.

“Now that is my kind of date,” grinned Garcia approvingly.

“And does this stud have a name?” asked Morgan flirtatiously with a hint of skepticism.

 “Mr. Christie,” admitted Charlie, bowing her head slightly with mock shame.  “Alright so it wasn’t so much as date as it was me with a box of double stuffed Oreo’s.  We sat on the bed and marathoned Netflix.  I’m sorry, but I think that counts.” Her hands flew up in defence.  “Besides, why are you so focused on me?  I’m not the only single one here.  Reid, Prentiss and Rossi are single too. Why don’t you pick on one of them?”

“Rossi's been married.  We’re not even sure Reid is human, and Prentiss is a lost cause,” Morgan grinned before Prentiss and Garcia smacked him simultaneously. 

“Oh my god,” Garcia breathed quickly reaching over across the table, smacking Charlie’s arm several times.

“Okay ow!” replied Charlie leaning back out of Penelope’s reach, until she was practically in Reid’s lap.  “What’s with the hitting all of a sudden?” 

Turning to face Charlie, Garcia’s face split into a giant grin.  “Do you believe in destiny?  Because that is exactly what has happened right here, right now.”  Reading the confusion on the rest of her companion’s faces, Garcia took that as a cue to continue.  “Believe it or not, one of those mega hunks, who have so mercifully decided to grace us with their presence in this bar, is none other than Sgt. Dreamboat.”

“What?” Charlie asked quickly turning to look behind her, nearly knocking her bottle over in her haste.  She saw the guys Garcia was talking about.  There was a blonde with short, thick hair and broad shoulders he could pass for Steve from behind, but she wasn’t sure.  He sat with his two friends over by the darts board and had his back to Charlie.  Travis was over there handing the three of them pony neck beers.  The first beer went to the blonde.  The second beer went to a brunet who also had his back turned to Charlie, he also wore a long sleeve shirt and kept his left hand hidden from sight, obscuring her ability to see if it was in fact James.  The only one of the trio to actually face them was a dark skinned man Charlie didn’t recognize, he had a kind face though.

“Who exactly is Sgt. Dreamboat?” asked Rossi suddenly interested in the conversation.  He craned his neck a little to take a good look at the men everyone else was talking about.

“The guy Charlie did the psych eval on before joining you guys in Indiana.  You should have seen them, and the way they were sparking all over the office.”

“There was no sparking,” argued Charlie, turning back to face her friends.  She didn’t need anyone thinking she had been anything less than professional during the eval, and having the file deferred to another agent.  Besides, she couldn’t get a good enough look of them to see if he was really there. But there was no way the brunet sitting over there could be him – what were the chances?  Reid would know.  She just didn’t feel like asking him, and getting him started on some long winded tirade about bar statistics, and chance encounters.  She’d save that conversation the next time she had trouble getting to sleep on the jet.

“Oh, please,” Garcia snorted in derision.  “You two sparked so much you nearly burned down Quantico.”

“Now that’s what I’m talking about,” Morgan nodded in approval. “Look at you working it during an eval Little Miss Hot Stuff.” 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Charlie shrugged them off with another swig from her bottle.

“Oh, you are so full of it,” laughed Emily teasingly. “Your eyes totally lit up when Garcia mentioned him, you’re practically glowing just talking about him.”

“Pupils seem to be dilated, and pulse appears to be racing,” observed Reid, reluctantly joining the conversation.  “All signs of sexual attraction.”

“How the hell can you tell my pulse is racing from over there?” demanded Charlie.

“Not to mention you have looked in their direction six times in the last two minutes trying to get a glimpse of him.”  JJ piled on.  “You should go for it.  From what I saw, he’s gorgeous.”

“Look at the way she’s blushing,” Beth shrieked, joining the girls in a little bit of harmless teasing of Charlie.  "You like him like him."

Draining the last sip from her bottle Charlie gave her head a shake.  “I hate profilers,” she muttered under her breath, causing everyone to chuckle.  Even Aaron cracked a rare Hotchner smile.  Getting up from the table she looked around the table, taking stock of drinks.  “I’m getting a round.”

“You’re not going over to talk to him?” Garcia asked crestfallen.

“Nope,” replied Charlie adjusting the sleeves of her plaid shirt.  Charlie Rhys did not chase men, they came to her, and James Buchanan Barnes would be no exception.  

“Well if you don’t want him, can I have him?” Emily called out hopefully, looking over at the table once more.  There was no doubt in their mind now that it was in fact the guy Charlie had performed the eval for, and that there was something going on between them.

“You wish,” Charlie called back over her shoulder, flashing them a cheeky grin as she sauntered towards the bar. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

Guy’s night.  That’s what Steve called it when he convinced Bucky to come out with him and Sam tonight.  Bucky had been set to just hang around the apartment maybe catch the game on tv, or check out Netflix now that Steve finally caved and got a subscription, when Steve handed him a dress shirt, and informed him they were going out.  Apparently someone told Sam about this great little hole in the wall bar they should try.  The owner was a Green Beret turned bar tender who understood the importance of a good, strong drink, and preferred to cater to his brothers in arms.

At the time he cursed the thought of leaving the comfort of his couch, and sweatpants, but now that he was there with Sam and Steve he was glad he listened to their advice.  The last few days had not been pleasant as he stewed away, waiting to hear back about the results of his evaluation.  Didn't help that every time he closed his eyes he was treated to images of pale green eyes, and long brown hair smiling sweetly at him, embracing him, comforting him.  If only he knew how to get in touch with her again.  But now that he was out of the apartment, he found he was actually enjoying himself, and remembered what it felt like to have fun again.      

“Uh, we didn’t order those,” Sam pointed at the tray of drinks Travis, the bartender, brought over to them.

“I know boys,” he gruffed.  “Your round was paid for by a friend.”

“Nice friend,” Sam marvelled passing Bucky a scotch on the rocks before taking his pint.   Someone knew their drink orders even though they had started the night out with beers -  and none of it was cheap. 

“This friend give any clue as to who they might be?” wondered Steve looking around the darkened bar half expecting to see Tony or Natasha sitting around somewhere, smirking at their confusion.

“Said to tell you it’s from a fan of a real baseball team.” 

The words struck Bucky as odd, until a thought occurred to him.  _No,_ he thought quickly turning in his seat, scanning the bar.   In his second pass over he spotted it.  A back turned Yankees cap,  with long brown hair, sitting over at a booth at the other end of the bar.  He wasn’t entirely sure he was seeing correctly until he spotted the blonde woman.  The one who came bursting in at the end of his eval; the one named Garcia.  The table was full with faces he didn’t recognize, so full that Charlie couldn’t even fit in the booth, she was sitting at the end of a table in a back facing chair. 

Getting up from the table without another word to Steve or Sam, Bucky walked across the crowded bar.  He had to see for himself if it was her, if this was real.   As he approached he could hear laughter – her laughter.   A smile broke out on his face once he got close enough to interrupt the conversation.  Tonight was really starting to look up.

“You know, that’s mighty big talk coming from a Yankees fan,” said Bucky nodding to the Garcia woman before looking at the side profile of his profiler.  “What’s with the round?”

Charlie continued to look forward for a second, but there was no mistaking the giant grin breaking on her face as she turned to face him.  Leaning one arm on the table she looked at him.  “Thought that’d get your attention,” she replied cheekily.  “Figured you could do with some consolation considering the Braves whooped the Dodgers’ ass this week, and now your team in bottom in the series.  You gotta face it Superman, you either gotta go Yankees or admit you ain’t a real New Yorker.”

“There’s always the Mets,” Will offered, unaware of just how unwelcomed his intrusion was in the conversation.

“The Mets are garbage,” Bucky and Charlie replied in unison, causing Garcia to squeal slightly under her breath.  She was already mentally drawing little hearts around them, and planning the cake they’d serve at their wedding.  So far she was thinking chocolate with raspberry filling and marzipan frosting, depending how Bucky felt about raspberry over strawberry.

“You out with the boys?” mused Charlie looking back over at Steve and their other friend.  Both of them stared at Bucky, Steve sporting a completely stunned expression as he undoubtedly explained who Charlie was, and why Bucky had come over.  The other fellow nodded with a teasing, knowing smile.  He'd been talking about her to his friends. Interesting.

“Yeah.  Guy’s night.  Someone told Sam about this place said it was pretty good for people like us - Army Vets.”  He looked down at her casually before adding, “now I get the appeal," he added smoothly with a charming grin.  "What about you?”

“Celebrating," Charlie shrugged casually.  "Just finished a case,” she explained before introducing Bucky to the rest of her team, and their respected significant others, only Reid was missing from the table, but perhaps it was best they save him for last. He had an effect on people.   “And of course, you remember Garcia,” Charlie sighed as Garcia purred, and offered Bucky a saucy little wink.  “Everyone, this is Sgt. James Barnes,” she said, finishing with the introductions.

Bucky nodded in the team’s direction, giving them his most charming smile.  “I should probably head back.  I just wanted to come by and thank you personally for the drinks.”

“Any time,” Charlie flashed him a charming little smile that made her eyes dance. 

“Did you and your friends want to join us?”  Morgan offered, joining in the conversation.  Technically Charlie was prevented professionally from asking James and his friends to join them, but there was nothing stopping him from doing it.  Besides, the last time he saw Charlie smile at a guy so much she was playing peek a boo with Henry when he was still a toddler.

“Yes,” Garcia replied quickly, ushering James to pull up a chair.  Both Charlie and Bucky chuckled at her colleague’s enthusiasm. 

“I dunno if you’re table’s gonna fit us all,” Bucky replied, trying hard to mask his disappointment.  The booth barely fit the entirety of Charlie’s team; there was no way they’d be able to squeeze in three more people – especially when two of those three were super soldiers.  But he wanted nothing more than to have another chance to sit and chat with Charlie again, preferably a chance that did not involve her judging him and having to relive past traumas.

“We can always push two together.  Travis won’t mind.  Do you Trav?” Charlie hollered over her shoulder in the bartender’s direction.

Travis looked up from his bar in Charlie’s direction, and yelled something back to her in a tongue, spoken too fast for Bucky to understand.  But Charlie seemed to know what he was saying because she responded in a similar fashion before getting up from the table.  “You wanna grab that?” she motioned over to the next table.

Immediately Bucky leapt at the opportunity to help.  With an eager grin, he dragged over the circular table before motioning for Steve and Sam to come on over and join them at their new, larger table.

“Evening Captain,” Charlie offered Steve a playful little salute as he took a seat on Bucky’s other side while Sam sat nestled between Steve and an Agent Prentiss. 

“Agent Rhys,” Steve greeted her politely, shooting Buck a knowing grin.  Bucky rolled his eyes and mouthed, 'shut up' in return. 

“Hey, sorry I took so long – the line at the bar was ridiculous,” Reid apologized before setting down another pitcher of beer, before sliding another bottle towards Charlie, “they were out of root beer, so I got you ginger ale instead,” he added before taking his seat between Charlie and Rossi.  Sitting down he noticed the three unfamiliar faces sitting at their table for the first time.  Puzzled he looked to Charlie for clarification.

Charlie quickly made the introductions with a hesitant smile, never fully taking her eyes off Reid.

“And now you’ve met twins,” Rossi laughed watching the way Charlie glared at Reid, trying to get him to be shut up.  He was currently carrying on about the sanitation irregularities in establishments like the bar, and how it would be more hygienic to go around kissing people – this was after Sam tried shaking his hand of course.

“Twins?” Steve asked in surprise looking over at the two. They looked nothing alike. “They allow twins to work together in the FBI?”

“We’re not related,” Charlie answered before Reid had the chance to respond.  “Reid and I met in the academy, and we happen to be the babies on the team,” she added, referring to their younger age in comparison to the rest of the team.

“There’s that,” Garcia nodded, “and also the incredible crazy fact you two share a birthday.”

“Really?” Sam asked surprised.

“No.  You don’t get it,” Garcia corrected excitedly, “I’m talking same day, same month, same year – same hour.”

“Maybe you two really are twins,” Sam laughed at the coincidence, looking at the two agents.

“Not possible,” Reid insisted, setting his beer back onto the coaster.  “I was born at 9:08 am October 9th in Las Vegas. Charlie was born 9:47 in Memphis.  In order for that to have happened my mother would have had to . . .”

“Reid!” Charlie cut him off quickly.  “You’re boring Captain Rogers, and his friends.”

“Captain Rogers?  As in Captain Steve Rogers?” he asked excitedly before looking at Steve again.  “You’re Captain America,” he breathed in disbelief.  Then looking at the others he immediately recognized their faces as well.  “You’re falcon,” he pointed at Sam, “and that means you’re Bucky Barnes.  Wow.  B-bi-big fan!” he prattled excitedly, now more than eager to shake their hands.  Calling Steve and Sam by their monikers, the rest of the table seemed to clue into whom they had the pleasure of sitting with.

“Does everyone know who you are, aside from me?” Charlie asked, leaning close to Bucky.

“You don’t know who Captain America is?” Reid practically shrieked in her ear.

“Okay, ow,” she grumbled hitting him on the arm before rubbing her ear.  “I’m not going to be able to hear for a week.”

“How can you not know who Captain America is?  The Avengers?  The attack in New York a few years ago?” Garcia explained trying to jog her friend’s memory.

“Oh,” Charlie exhaled excitedly before deadpanning, “yeah, I missed that.”

“How did you miss that?” Steve asked incredulously.  He didn’t mean to come off so rude; it was just that, how did someone simply miss a mass alien attack that nearly wiped out the city of New York?

“Probably because I was elbow deep in mass graves in Guatemala,” replied Charlie coolly, taking a sip from her bottle.

“Not Guatemala,” Reid corrected.  “That was 2014, during the collapse of SHIELD and the Hydra conspiracy.  The New York attack was in 2012 – you were in Rwanda.”

“Right,” Charlie snapped her fingers, memory jogged.  “Can’t believe I mixed those two up."

“What were you doing in Guatemala and Rwanda?” asked Sam.  “Doesn't the FBI just stick to the states?”

“We do,” Hotch clarified, weighing in on the conversation.  “Neither of those were FBI related.”

“I do a lot of work for an Non-Governmental Organization during my vacation time,” Charlie explained, taking over the conversation from Hotch.   “Kind of like a Forensics Without Borders.  We travel all over the world with a team of experts in varying fields, and work on identifying victims of genocide based on skeletal evidence, teaching profiling, and other investigative techniques to the local law enforcement.”

“You call that a vacation?” Sam cast her a dubious glance.  “Sounds like you need a crash course on relaxation.”

Charlie laughed at his assessment, and tried to keep herself from saying that everyone in the BAU would probably benefit from that course.  None of them were exactly prone to relaxing, even on vacation.  The first few days were nice, but by the end of the first week their bodies hummed with the anticipation of returning to work.  They craved the adrenaline that came with the job.

“Believe me, it’s not all morbid,” a fond smile tugged at the corner of her lips as she recalled a few memories from her travels, “there’s dancing in the moonlight, smooth jazz, trips out to the wild life preserves, teaching art to some of the local kids.”

“Isn’t it kind of hard to profile skeletal remains?” Bucky tried to picture what she could tell from a pile of bones.  Everything he’d read about profiling, aside from victimology, required the subject to be . . . well . . . living.

“I do more than just profiling,” answered Charlie.  “I was the BAU’s doodle monkey before taking the profiling training courses.”

“That’s Charlie’s way of saying she's a forensic artist,” Rossi translated for them as Charlie shot him an impish smirk.

“Charlie is kind of like a go between,” JJ explained.  As the media, and police liaison, she was also in charge of Charlie's scheduling, making sure she was where she was needed when the local PD or another field office requested her presence.  “She works mostly out of the BAU, but we lend her out to other field offices or agencies when she’s needed.”

“Way to make me sound like a library book, there JJ,” Charlie teased giving her a playful, dirty look before changing the conversation to something else.  That was one thing Bucky noticed about Agent Rhys - she never kept the conversation on her for very long.

 

* * *

 

After a while the group descended into fractured conversations.  Reid and Garcia were completely captivated by Steve as he spoke, rather modestly, about his exploits with SHIELD and the Avengers.  Sam, Emily and Morgan talked sports with Rossi, while both Hotch, and JJ left with their dates to go home and be with their kids.   That left Charlie and Bucky in their own little conversational bubble.

“So, you wanna tell me what language that was you were speaking with the bartender?” Bucky wondered, taking the last sip of his scotch. 

“You ever heard of Louisianan Creole?” She asked taking a sip from her bottle of ginger ale.

“No,” Bucky shook his head.  He sat forward in his seat, suddenly eager to learn more about it.

“Travis is from Louisiana, grew up speaking Creole French.  I picked it up when I lived in New Orleans.”

Bucky noticed the way Charlie adapted a Louisiana accent as soon as she said New Orleans.  She sounded as though she’d lived there her entire life with the ease she flitted between accents. He wondered how long she lived there – when did she move?  Before he could ask she stopped him as she over heard Reid’s current fanboying over something Bucky and Steve had done during the days of the Howling Commando.

“I swear, Reid’s in love,” Charlie laughed, leaning back in her seat.  “Can we be expecting a happy announcement from y’all by the end of the week?”

“What was that?” Bucky brightened suddenly, nudging her playfully.

“What?” her voice returned to what he had thought had been her natural accent.

“That word – y’all,” he tried mimicking the southern drawl he heard come from her seconds earlier.  He couldn't get it right though - he never was any good at accents.

“You caught me,” she laughed throwing her hands up in surrender.  “I might have a _slight_ Southern accent,” she confessed.  The truth was bound to come out sooner or later.  Might as well get the teasing over with now.

“Can I hear it?” he asked flashing her an innocent, eager grin.  He’d never actually met anyone with a southern accent.  During the war he heard plenty of British, French, German, even the odd Italian accent, and then of course Russian had become engrained in his mind – but Southern?  Never.

“Alright fine,” Charlie allowed her natural twang to slip through.  “But only if I get to hear that Brooklyn accent of yours later.”

Bucky couldn’t fight the smile spreading on his face.  It had to be the most adorable accent he’d ever heard; it wasn’t the same kind of nasally drawn out twang he’d heard on television, but it was softer, sweeter.  “Where is that even from?” he asked, before attempting to pinpoint the state, afraid he’d get it wrong and offend her.  That was a major faux pas in New York.  Saying someone was from Brooklyn when they were actually from Manhattan was a good way to get your face rearranged; he wasn’t sure, but he had a feeling it was the same, if not worse, with the Southern states.

“Tennessee,” Charlie explained.  “I grew up in Scottsborough, just outside Memphis,” she added, but with the way she spoke Scottsborough came out Scottsburra.  The name sounded familiar.  He could have sworn he just read something about Scottsborough Tennessee.  Maybe it had come up in conversation with someone?  Did they have a sports team win some cup?

“Why cover it up?” Bucky whispered, leaning in.  If she hid her accent on a day to day basis, then maybe her colleagues didn’t know she had it? Or if they did they probably teased her for it – talking different.   Either way she didn’t seem too keen on people hearing the natural way she spoke.

“I ain’t playing with a half deck,” Charlie sighed softly.  “I know what people think about folk from the South.  Y’all think that just cause we talk slow down South we gotta be slow in the head too.  Now, who is gonna take a federal agent seriously if they hear them talking like this?  Answer: no one. So when I moved here from New Orleans, I learned how to talk like y’all.  Now a days, most people can’t even tell I wasn’t born and raised up North.”

“You had me fooled,” Bucky whispered as he leaned in, letting his Brooklyn accent come out thick.  The smile lighting up Charlie’s face was more than enough reward.  He hadn’t talked like that in ages.  Unlike Agent Rhys, he hadn’t changed the way he talked deliberately, it just happened over time.

“That was kind of the point,” Charlie added, peeling the label off her bottle

“Charlie’s talking Southern,” Garcia squealed in delight.  “Charlie’s talking Southern.” Drawing everyone’s attention to the fact that Charlie did in fact speak with an accent.

“Come on hot stuff, say something Cowboy for us,” Morgan teased.  Catching Charlie with her southern accent was like catching Haley’s comet – it only happened every seventy years or so.  But when it did happen, it was a glorious day and needed to be taken advantage of.

“All y’all can go to hell,” Charlie scolded her team before polishing off the rest of her drink.

“Whoa, whoa, who invited the Colonel?” Sam joined in on the teasing with a friendly smile.

“Very funny,” Charlie rolled her eyes.  “I’m from Tennessee not Kentucky.  And Penelope before you even think about making some wise ass comment about the way I talk, you remember I’m the one appointin’ your fitness advisor for y’alls’ field test, and I ain’t afraid to assign you to Morgan.” 

Garcia rapidly closed her mouth and a minor look of terror passed over her face as she looked from Charlie to her boyfriend.  Spencer cleared his throat uncomfortably, looking at Charlie with a mildly panicked expression.

“Relax little brother, you’re with me.”

“So what’s it like talking in a different accent all day?” inquired Steve curiously having caught snippets of Bucky’s conversation with Charlie from earlier.  He’d never met anyone who purposely hid the way the spoke.  There was Natasha, but her Russian accent had naturally faded after coming to the States.

Charlie sat, contemplating her answer before finally replying, “It’s like taking off your shoes after a long day.  You’re not really uncomfortable, but Lord have mercy when you’re walking around in your stockings if that ain’t the most relaxing feeling in the world.”

“Well I think everyone could do with a top up,” Rossi announced, quickly changing the topic of conversation before Charlie got flustered with all the attention on the way she spoke.  “Where did we land in our little game?”

“Reid and Rhys are tied," Morgan pointed in their direction.

“Game?  What we playing?” Sam asked, rubbing his hands together excitedly.  He revelled for the opportunity to finally beat Steve and Bucky at something.

“Name that killer,” Charlie winced as she said that name out loud, after seeing the trio of dubious looks being cast her way.

“Oh, what the hell is that?” Sam exchanged worried looks with Steve, wondering who the hell Bucky was getting them involved with.

“Basically you describe a case, and try to name serial killer based on the details.  The first person to name the killer, and as many details as possible wins, and everyone else drinks; the one with the least points pays the tab.” Prentiss explained the game in as broad terms as possible to the trio. 

Steve and Sam looked confused as to why anyone would ever want to play such a game while Bucky couldn’t help but look at Charlie, and feel a little impressed.  Morgan said she was tied for first, against a genius with total recall.

“For example, all his victims were African-American women between the ages of 19-41, arrested 12 times, the first for reckless endangerment in 1981 he served five – ”

“Walter E. Ellis, also known as "The Milwaukee North Side Strangler"; convicted of killing 7 prostitutes in Wisconsin between 1986 and 2007. Died in prison on December 1, 2013, “ Charlie slammed her fingers on the table, blurring her words together in her excitement.  “Drink, my bitches,” she snapped her fingers, shooting Reid a cocky grin. “Told you I’d catch up, little brother.”

“Not fair, I didn’t know we were actually playing,” Reid protested before taking a begrudging swig of his beer.

“And Rhys takes the lead with 17 to Pretty Boy’s 16,” Morgan acted as a sports commentator as he ran through the tables stats.  Garcia was in dead last with zero, though she claimed not to actually play due to the unbelievable ick factor of the game.

“You invent that crash course of relaxation, and you’ll make a killing at the BAU,” joked Charlie looking at the mildly horrified look on Sam’s face.  “Do we know how to party or what?” she laughed nervously.

“You guys wanna give it try?” Rossi asked setting his scotch back on the table after nearly finishing the glass.

“Why the hell not,” Sam shrugged.  Losing to a group of FBI profilers at name that killer couldn’t be anymore embarrassing than being out lapped by a pair of ninety year-old super soldiers on a daily basis.  At least here he was on equal footing with Steve and Bucky.  “Can we list international ones too – or are we just sticking with American?”

“We can go international,” Charlie shrugged in agreement.  “I won the last round, so now I go, or I can pass it to someone else.”  She paused, chewing the skin around her thumbnail until her tongue was met with the coppery taste of blood. “Alright, I got one.  Horse trader who killed 33 men, he was executed in 1923.”

“Wolf of Moscow – Vasili Komaroff,” answered Reid in the same excited manner as Charlie.  He proceeded to fire off the same kind of abstract details Charlie and Rossi had. 

After a couple rounds both Steve and Sam had gotten a couple right.   They had a feeling, however, the profilers were taking it easy on them by listing obvious details, and not answering under rapid fire the way the usually did.  It was a surprisingly fun game to play. 

Bucky kept to himself.  He preferred watching Charlie from the corner of his eye with a fascinated, boyish grin plastered on his face; watching the way her entire face lit up as she rattled off in depth answers, and the smug satisfaction she had when she beat Reid to an answer.  She was competitive.  He liked that.  Reid had just beat her though, but she still led with three points.

“Born in Scottsborough Tennessee.”

“Reid,” Prentiss tried cutting him off, staring in Charlie’s direction, as the colour drained from her face.

“Killing 36 women of different racial backgrounds he is considered the most prolific serial killer of our generation.”

“Uh, Einstein,” Rossi cleared his throat, also eying Charlie nervously.  Charlie also watched Reid with absolute neutrality.

Bucky didn't know what was going on with the profilers, but he didn't like it.  He saw the way Charlie grew smaller with ever word out of Spencer's mouth, and the alarmed looks of panic on her colleagues faces.  He could feel his protective nature kicking into overdrive, wanting to shield Charlie from whatever it was that was upsetting her - only he didn't know how, or what to do to make it all stop.  Powerless, he sat back and waited for the inevitable crash.

“This killer listened to Bruce Springsteen as he strangled women with nylon ropes,” Reid continued, oblivious to his teammates’ desperate bid for his attention.   

“Reid!” Morgan cried angrily, slamming his hand on the table.  “Come on man!” He motioned for Reid to look at Charlie, who now sat rode straight with her head bowed, staring straight ahead, eyes trained on some invisible spot on the table. 

Charlie Rhys was not currently present – perhaps physically, but the rest of her was gone.  She was tucked away somewhere in her mind, a million miles beneath the surface.

Pausing, Reid gulped, looking at Charlie horrified.  “Oh my . . . Charlie.”  The colour drained from his face as he started choking on his words.  “I’m so sorry, I didn’t . . . I didn’t mean to . . . I wasn’t thinking . . . I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright, little brother.  I’m fine,” Charlie attempted to assure him, but her voice didn’t come out right.  It was strained, and off pitch, like she’d swallowed a dog’s squeak toy.  All eyes were on her, she could feel them burrowing into her.  Five sets of eyes stared at her, heavy with pity, and three in sheer confusion.

“Well, it’s official,” Derek sighed.  “Reid is settling the tab for the night.”

“Yup,” Emily agreed morosely. 

“Um, am I missing something?” Steve spoke hesitantly, unsure as to what caused the sudden hush to fall over the table.  They had been boisterous and enthusiastic seconds earlier.  No one had actually answered the question, but Reid seemed to have committed some egregious error against Charlie.

“Reid broke the cardinal rule of Name that Killer,” Garcia squeaked not taking her eyes off Charlie. 

“Which is?” Steve asked.  Trying to get an explanation from this team was like trying to pull teeth with your bare fingers, and no novocaine - slippery and painful.

“Never, ever, mention personal cases in the game,” Emily explained.  They never mentioned Foyet around Hotch, Hankel with Reid.  Everyone on the team had their personal demon, a case that left them scarred and a little broken – but Charlie’s was by far the worst.

Taking a deep breath, Charlie kept her voice relatively steady as she answered Reid’s clue.  “Springsteen Strangler.  Active for nine years; currently on death row for 36 counts of murder; set to die September 26th.  His name is Lewis Rhys, a farmer and mechanic from Scottsborough Tennessee.” 

She could feel Bucky tense next to her, catching it from the corner of her eye. He sat a little straighter in his seat.  He knew she was from Scottsborough, and her last name was Rhys. She could feel he weight of his gaze on her as the pieces fell together, but she couldn’t bring herself to look at him when it all finally clicked.

“He brought women back to his barn where he strangled, and later dismembered them to make for easier burial.  The media called his victims," she paused, grimacing, "Rhys' pieces.  He loved baseball – the Braves especially – and every Sunday he ate his favourite dinner – fried chicken, with okra and biscuits.  He has a daughter.” Her voice cracked slightly as she continued staring straight ahead.  “She was fifteen when he was arrested, and hasn’t seen him since. Her name is Charlie.”

“And she picked herself up and carried herself all the way to the FBI’s BAU, where she now stops men like him,” Rossi added reaching across the table for her hand.  Shooting Charlie a stern look, he reminded her that she was more than just her father’s legacy.  And while she still felt like it sometimes, she was not the same naïve fifteen year-old girl she was the day he was arrested.  That girl was dead, and had been for a very, very long time.

“Where she found her real family,” Morgan added his hand to the pile.

“Who absolutely love the crap out of her," Emily agreed placing her hand in the pile.

"Just for being her ooey gooey marshmallowy badass self,” Garcia nodded adding her hand as well, giving Charlie’s hand a firm squeeze as Charlie chuckled.  

Reid wrapped an arm around her tensed shoulders, and pulled her in close, kissing the side of her head.  “Even when they’re idiots,” he added sheepishly, apologizing for his error once more.

Charlie forced a smile as she leaned into Reid’s embrace.  “Thanks guys,” she smiled back at her team.  “Nother round?” she asked wiping away something from her eyes. She didn’t bother looking over at James and his friends.  She already knew what she’d see, and didn’t need the proof.  Any moment now they’d find some polite reason to excuse themselves from the table and then they’d get the hell out of there.  Happened every time someone found out about her dad and who she was before the BAU.

“Sounds good,” Reid nodded slowly.  “Here, take my. . .” he started patting himself looking for his wallet before turning to Charlie.  “Very funny – where is it?”

“You mean this?” she produced the small leather wallet from her own pocket.  “Starting to wonder when you’d notice little brother.  Snagged this shortly after you sat down again,” she teased before digging out the debit card, sliding the rest back to him.  “Be back soon,” she added getting up from her chair.

A couple seconds later, after watching her make her way to the bar Bucky rose from his seat as well.  “You know what, I think I’m gonna help her,” he announced before following after Charlie.

“I should go too,” Reid, wanting to make things right with Charlie, tried rising before Morgan pushed him back down in his seat. 

“Oh no you don't,” Morgan warned.  “You’re staying right here,” he informed Reid.  The last thing Charlie needed was boy wonder coming up and ruining her one moment alone with James.  He hadn’t missed the way James kept staring at Charlie every time she wasn’t looking, and the way he smiled when she was.  He was interested, and if he didn’t know any better, he might think she was too.

 

* * *

 

“Hey,” Bucky whispered softly as he came up behind Charlie, careful not to startle her as she waited for Travis to finish filling their drink order.

“Hey,” she greeted quietly, turning around to face him.

“That was . . . interesting,” he added awkwardly, tilting his head back to the table, referring to the game.  “That's why you hit the course the other day - because of your dad's . . ."  He trailed off, not wanting to finish the sentence.   _Because of your dad's impending execution date announcement?_  How did she do it?  How could she manage going into work the day the whole world discovered the day her father was to be executed.  Suddenly Garcia's intrusion didn't seem so strange.  Charlie shouldn't have been at work that day, but the fact that she was, and that she'd seemed so chipper in spite of everything she was going through, made Bucky respect and admire her even more.

“Yeah,” Charlie nodded avoiding eye contact, chewing the skin around her nails until they bled again.  She never hid who her father was, she couldn’t do what Seaver had done, and go by her mom’s maiden name, there was no hiding the fact that she was a Rhys – so she might as well embrace it.  Most people heard her name and would ask, _like the candy or the killer?_ Then, once she explained the killer was in fact her father, they looked at Charlie as if she had sprung another head, or that she’d kill them now.  “You can go ahead.  Ask.  I know you want to.”

“Ask what?”

“If I knew,” she answered point blank.  It was always the first question people asked her, that is, if they stuck around long enough after finding out who her father was.  Most people just cut and run.  Then again – James wasn’t most people.  He understood.  She could see that in his eyes – he understood what she’d been through.  “If I knew what he was doing with them in the barn those nights.  I must have right?  I mean, thirty six women over nine years – how couldn't I have not known.”

“You didn’t,” Bucky answered definitively.  “The way you talk about him, that look you have – there’s no way you knew what he was doing.”

Charlie chuckled morosely, “looks like those books I recommended for you came in handy after all. Might make a profiler out of you yet,” she rested her weight against the bar as she leaned back, facing James as they spoke.  “You're right.  I didn’t know.  My dad . . . he was . . .  he was clever.  Always made sure I was either away from the farm, or out of town for an away game when it happened.  He was principled that way.  He never killed when I was in the house.  Suppose I should be grateful for that at least.”

“What about your mom? Where was she?”

“Never had one.”  Charlie turned her cap around so the brim faced forwards, casting a dark shadow across her face, as she explained how her mother died bringing her into the world. Made her dad’s arrest all the worst.  It had only been the two of them, so for fifteen years he had been her everything, and then one day she suddenly had nothing. 

“Here ya are Charlie,” Travis called, sliding the drinks her way, and a single cola bottle. 

“Thanks Trav,” she smiled.  “How much do I owe ya for the round?”

“Cola is on the house – thirty for the rest.” 

She slid him Spence’s debit card for him to ring in before returning to her conversation with Bucky.

“Wipe that look off your face superman – I don’t need none of your pity,” she took a sip from her cola before passing him a couple of the pitchers to carry back to the table. 

“Sorry,” Bucky tried to say something supportive, but his mind fell short. He’d never been in this situation before – he had no idea what the proper protocol was for this kind of situation.

“Thanks,” she offered him a meagre smile.

“For what?”

“For being sorry,” she replied honestly.  “And not running in the other direction when you heard about my dad.”

“So you're the kid of a serial killer, I'm a former brainwashed, Soviet assassin.  Who the hell am I to judge?” he replied with an honest shrug.  He was no saint, he had lifetimes of blood to wash off his hands – how could he judge Charlie for who her father was? 

Charlie didn’t say anything, but she laughed, and smile brightly at him like he'd said all the right things.  “Come on, we should be getting back,” she nudged him gently with her shoulder before leading him back to the table with everyone waiting expectantly for their drinks.

“So different game?” Prentiss wondered, reaching for the first pitcher to top off her beer.

Sam’s offer to play a round of poker was met with an overwhelming, and resounding ‘no!’ from the profilers. 

“Trust me on this brother – unless you want to lose your shirt, shoes, house and car, don’t play with those three,” Morgan motioned to Charlie, Prentiss, and Reid.  Only Charlie had the decency to feign innocence, where as Spencer and Emily exchanged devious smirks.

* * *

 

Again, the group quickly splintered.  Reid brought out his travel chess set to play with Rossi, while Emily flirted lightly with Sam.  Penelope and Derek were off in their own little world while Charlie conversed with Steve and James.

“You draw?” Charlie pondered, pointing over at the small notebook sticking out of Steve’s front pocket.

“A bit,” Steve admitted suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.

“What do you mean a bit?” Bucky smacked his arm slightly.  “Steve’s a great artist.  Growing up, he was always drawing.”  Steve turned a heated scarlet at Bucky’s praise.

“Really?” Charlie cocked her head, interested.  “What do you say Cap?  I show you mine if you show me yours?” Reaching into the bag slung over the back of her chair she pulled out a full size studio sketchbook.  “Wanna trade?”

“You draw?” Steve asked in surprise.

“A bit,” Charlie laughed lightly as she watch the flush spread from Steve’s cheeks to his ears. 

“Alright,” he agreed, sliding the notebook over to the agent for inspection.  Just as she promised she slid her over to him as well.

“You want to go first or shall I?” Charlie wondered turning the little book over in her hands.

“Ladies first,” Steve nodded in her direction. 

As Charlie opened the book Steve held his breath, waiting for her criticisms.   “These are great,” Charlie breathed as her eyes flitted over the well-worn pages.  “You have great concept of space and shading.”  She continued, flipping through the pages, keeping her thoughts to herself until she finished.  “You’re good,” she smiled warmly in his direction.  Though your portraits need a bit more work,” she continued listing his technical problems, but was careful to add reassuring, supportive comments as well for every piece of constructive criticism she gave.

“Yeah, well lets see what makes you such an expert,” Steve countered playfully, much to Bucky’s envy, before opening the book in his hands.  The first page took his breath away.  Looking at the image, and back to Charlie he gaped speechless.  He knew Charlie was a forensic artist, but he had seen some of their work on the news – this went far beyond anything he’d ever seen.

“Wow,” Bucky breathed looking over at the charcoal sketch of a young boy, probably about the age of seven or eight.  The texture and shading she had done for his mop of curls looks so soft, and so real, he thought he’d be able to feel them if he touched the page.

“These are amazing,” Steve breathed looking through a couple more. 

“Thanks,” she shrugged modestly.  “The art program at Vassar is fantastic.  All the professors are amazingly talented, and the really encourage their students.”

“You went to Vassar?” Steve asked, enviously. 

Back in the day he dreamed of being able to afford the tuition at the prestigious art school.  But back then, for him at least, being an artist wasn’t practical, not when you’re colour blind.  Besides, it had been the depression, who could afford that kind of school for something like art?

“Yeah,” Charlie smiled.  “Specialized in sketches.  Did some other stuff too while I was there, but drawing was my true love,” she explained.   “You know, I still keep in touch with some of the professors there. I’m sure you’d probably be able to get in if you submitted some of your sketches to them,” she offered.   

“Uh oh,” Morgan groaned, preventing their conversation about Steve’s chances at Vassar from continuing, not taking his eyes off the door.

“What’s uh oh?” Reid asked looking up from his chess game.

“Trouble just walked through the door, in the form of Doreah James,” replied Morgan, eyes immediately trained on Charlie.   

“That’s not good,” agreed Rossi. 

“Un-fucking-believable, this night just keeps getting better doesn’t it?” Charlie cursed under her breath.  What?  Were they following her now? 

“Doreah James?  Isn’t she a reporter for the Post?” wondered Steve, curious about the profilers’ sudden change in behaviour the moment they saw the journalist walk in.  True, journalists and law enforcement had a turbulent history together, but this took a whole new level of disdain.  The entire mood at the table changed from happy care-free to cold, and on edge; he could almost see the hair on the back of their necks stand straight up.  The only one who seemed to remain calm, was Charlie; who remained relaxed sipping, away at her cola.

Before anyone had a chance to reply, a syrupy, obviously fake voice interrupted their gathering, “ well if it isn’t the infamous Charlie Rhys, I’ve been trying to get a hold of you for quite some time you know.”

An annoyed smile twitched at the corner of Charlie’s mouth before turning her head in Doreah’s direction. “ Been kind of busy.  You know, murders to solve, serial killers to catch, it tends to eat away at your free time.”  The warmth and kindness in her voice was gone, as were all traces of her Southern accent.  “And as far as you’re concerned Miss James, my first name is SSA.”

“Yes, one of my sources informed you, and you’re team, were back from Indiana.  Did you enjoy being out of the city?”

“We were assisting the local PD in apprehending a killer who was abducting and mutilating young women before slashing their throats, and dumping their bodies in back alleys – not camping in the woods roasting marshmallows and singing kumbaya,” replied Charlie tersely.  “What can I do for you Ms James?” she then challenged, with a pointed glare.

Bucky noted the cold edge in her voice, but above all else she remained obligingly polite.  Was that a Southern thing or just a Charlie thing?

“I’m working on a human interest piece regarding women in male dominated field, such as the FBI, and I was-”

“No,” replied Charlie quickly, cutting the woman off midsentence.

“No?” wondered Doreah, perplexed by the sharp remark.

“No,” Charlie repeated.  Pausing for a moment to finish the contents of her bottle she smiled to herself before looking back up at the journalist.  “You’re not writing a human interest piece about women in a male dominate field because if you were you’d be talking to Penelope Garcia,” she motioned across the table at her friend. “ Garcia happens to be the FBI’s top tech analyst, and one of the top three computer hackers in the world – all self taught.  There is also SSA Emily Prentiss,” she motioned to Emily with a jerk of her head.  “The daughter of American Ambassador Prentiss, former member of INTERPOL, amongst other agencies, she is fluent in seven different languages and mastered several forms of martial arts.”  Rotating in her seat Charlie pointed out several other highly trained, qualified women – not all of whom were in the FBI, but were equally impressive. 

“ And finally – you don’t write human interest.  You’re here because of the headlines,” shaking her head Charlie tutted. “I don’t like being lied to Ms. James,” she added darkly.   “Now I don’t know how you tracked me down here, but just like everyone else, you’re trying to get little Charlie Rhys’ reaction to finding out that her home town is finally getting around to executing her daddy.  And I’m going to tell you the same thing I say every time his name come up in the news.  No comment.  No comment.  No God damn comment.”

“Come on, Charlie,” Doreah pleaded inserting herself in the space between Charlie and Bucky.  “You know what people say about you? Your cold, unresponsive nature regarding your father’s case has led to people calling you the Ice Queen, and a frigid bitch.”

 At once three of the men at the table slammed their fists down, and stood aggressively eying the journalist, causing her to jump back slightly.  Steve never tolerated anyone talking a woman in such a manner, Morgan refused to let the reporter talk to his friend and colleague in such a way, and Bucky - well everyone knew why he was pissed, except, perhaps, for Doreah.

“Sit down,” Charlie ordered  the three of them.  “I appreciate the concern, but I can fight my own battles.”  Her eyes never left Bucky’s as he slowly lowered himself back into his seat; fist clenched.

“I didn’t mean any offense,” Doreah threw her hands up, looking uneasy from Morgan to Bucky, especially when she noticed the metal hand, and the crack in the table from where he’d slammed his fist down.  “I’m just saying – why not break your silence?  Tell people your side of it all?  You have one hell of a story Charlie – why not let somebody tell it for you?”

“Here’s the thing none of y’all seem to get,” Charlie argued between chuckles of disbelief.  “It’s not a God damn story.  It’s my life.  And I’ll be damned if I let anyone make a name for themselves, and a quick buck by reporting about the shit I went through cause of my father.”

The look on Charlie’s face jolted something in Bucky’s memory, now he saw it.  The look was gone in a flash, but he saw it.  That look in her eyes, he saw it in the fifteen year-old girl in the photograph from the Post – the copy Steve bought later the day of his eval.  Her hair was longer now, and she had more freckles thanks to working so much in the sun, and the wide eye innocent farmer’s daughter look was gone too – but it was her.  It was all in the eyes.  The photograph was in black and white, but the eyes still burned with the same cold impassivity he saw now.  And just like that, it was gone again, but only the Charlie they’d seen earlier didn’t return.  She was gone.  In her stead was someone quieter, more subdued.

“Charlie dear,” Doreah tried to reason with the young agent.  “I’ve already got a name.  This is all about the story – your story.”

“Fine,” Charlie shrugged.  “I’ll talk – off the record.”

“Off the record?” Doreah choked.  “But . . . but . . . I can’t use any of that for the paper.”

“I know,” Charlie smiled, but it wasn’t warm and sweet, it was more dangerous – venomous – and sent chills up Bucky’s spine.  “More than just a pretty face darlin’.  Besides,” she cocked her head innocently.  “I thought it was about the story? Not selling papers.”

Doreah opened and closed her mouth several times before Penelope reached in her bag and handed the journalist a bottle of aloe vera gel.  “For the burn,” Morgan clarified smugly as Doreah stared at the tube of green jelly.  Looking back at her friend Charlie gave both Garcia and Morgan a fist bump before returning her attentions to Doreah. 

“Well,” Doreah huffed, straightening her blazer lapel.  “I can see the ice queen reigns supreme.  Perhaps one of your colleagues has something to say?”  She looked around the table, note pad in hand, hopefully.

“No comment,” Reid said sternly, glowering at the journalist with as much hatred he could muster.  No one upset his friend, not if he could help it.  Slowly, one by one, all the agents at the table declined to comment about the announcement of Lewis Rhys’ pending execution, in obvious support for their friend. 

“Looks like you ain’t got a story after all,” Charlie shrugged.  “Door’s that way,” she pointed in the same direction Doreah had entered in.  “Don’t let it hit you on your way out.”

Growing disgruntled, and exasperated by the stubbornness of the agents, Doreah turned to Steve and Bucky, noticing them for the first time.  It took a second, but there was a sudden flicker of recognition behind her eyes as she eyed Bucky curiously, and his proximity to Charlie.    

“My, my, Agent Rhys.  You certainly do keep interesting company,” she sang, not taking her eyes off Bucky.  “Captain America, and the Winter Soldier.”

“Former,” Charlie corrected as her eyes narrowed, and lost the fight to keep the gravel tone from her voice. 

“Ooh, getting defensive are we?” Doreah purred.  “I wonder if part of your desire for secrecy doesn’t have something to do with your new friends?  Perhaps they don't know the true story of little Charlie Rhys, and her daddy?” she added, trying to goad Charlie into revealing something.

Charlie countered, softening a bit, “if there’s one thing I can’t stand, Mis. James, it’s poor manners.  Can’t help it – I’m Southern.”

Doreah shrugged with a flounce before turning her attention to Steve.  “So what does Captain America think about the FBI admitting the children of serial killers into its ranks?  Not exactly patriotic – is it Cap?”

“No comment,” Steve replied curtly.

“No comment,” Sam repeated in the same tone when Doreah looked to him.  She wheeled around to look at Bucky, now standing by Charlie’s side, almost acting as a shield between her and the journalist.  She gave him a little huff as she eyed him, and tittered, “ I wouldn’t even bother asking you.  Not exactly the pinnacle of morality, are we Sergeant Barnes?  You only had what? 24 confirmed kills - when you were the Winter Soldier?  Must be a blow to the ego knowing a civilian has more kills than you – weren’t you supposedly the best?” 

Steve’s eyes flashed with anger at the journalist’s audacity.  He didn’t take too kindly to anybody insulting anyone, let alone his best friend.  Especially when they brought up the Winter Soldier around him.  Didn’t they know how badly Buck had suffered because of that?  Of course they didn’t.  They didn’t know about the years of torture, and brain washing he suffered from, the nightmares, and the flashbacks they induced.  The nights Bucky stayed up, eyes red and swollen from the tears he shed thinking about all the lives he destroyed.  They just saw the face behind the gun.

He didn’t know if Charlie could sense his mounting rage as well, or if she was merely tired of the woman’s presence, but she came out from behind Bucky and stepped between them, wrapping her fingers around the clenched fist of his metal hand giving it a reassuring squeeze. She gave Bucky some kind of look that Steve couldn't interpret, but whatever it said, Bucky calmed suddenly, and relaxed beneath Charlie's touch.  He backed down, slowly lowering himself back into his seat, though his eyes remained trained of Doreah, ready to strike at a second's notice.

Turning her attention back on Doreah, Charlie spoke quickly and to the point.  “Listen, it’s clear you’re not getting your story here tonight, so I kindly suggest you leave, before I call Travis, and have him personally escort you out – he doesn’t take too kindly to reporters coming around here, harassing his patrons.”  She warned Doreah in a polite, but sharp voice.  “And if you leave within the next thirty seconds I won’t have you arrested for stalking a federal agent.  Your choice.”

“Stalking?” Doreah looked appalled.  “When did stepping into a bar for one little drink become stalking?” 

“Don’t play cute with me,” Charlie stepped closer, her face inches away from the reporter’s.  “You and those immoral vultures you call colleagues, have been camped out on my property line since this story hit the headlines.  I haven’t even been home yet – no one knows we’re back from Indiana, and yet you happened to know what bar we’re drinking at? I know when I’m being followed – so you can get out of here, and tell your source I will find the leak and by the time I’m done with them they’ll be lucky if they get anything less than five years in a maximum security prison for trading federal secrets.  Am I clear?”

Doreah gulped slightly as she took a step back.  She wasn’t sure what frightened her more – the threat itself, or the calm level voice mixed with the daggers coming from Agent Rhys’ voice as she delivered the threat.  Muttering ‘just like your father,’ under her breath, Doreah turned, and with a chorus of her stiletto’s clicking against the floor, retreated out the front door.

Waiting until Doreah was out of sight for good Charlie sat down in her chair, exhausted. 

“That’s what passes for good journalism these days?” Steve huffed, glaring at the door in case she walked through it once more.  “I don’t remember journalists acting like that back in our day.”

“That’s because back in your day journalists actually had integrity, and morals,” Charlie muttered bitterly. 

“You okay sweetie?” Prentiss asked, rubbing Charlie’s arm affectionately. 

Charlie sat, focused on the table.  Her face was expressionless but her eyes were dark, clouded.  “I’m fine Emily,” she sighed after a second, clearly not fine, but she faked it anyways.  “I’ve been dealing with people like Doreah since I was fifteen – nothing I’m not used to already."

Reaching over, Reid placed a hand gently on her shoulder, giving a tender squeeze.  Kissing the back of his hand, Charlie leaned against Reid, appreciating the comfort of his support.  Her team.  It's what got her through the day.

Steve shot Bucky a concerned look, as tension remained high amongst those seated at the table.  Bucky looked back at him, giving him a slight nod letting him know that he was okay.  What Doreah said to him bothered him, how could it not? All anyone ever saw him as was a gun, and he was sick of it. But he was over it, Charlie had that effect on him, and he knew Steve saw it too. But he didn't focus on that.  He was too preoccupied being concerned for Charlie to even worry about what Doreah had said to him, he didn’t even take the time to relish in the fact that Charlie had held his metal hand without flinching - a real first. 

He thought of the girl in the photograph.  The sweet, innocent looking farmer’s daughter with the distant, impassive eyes as her father was being arrested for murder, not allowing herself to feel because of the near by reporters - vultures ready to feed off her vulnerability and emotional hell.  Fifteen.  She had been dealing with stunts like that since she was fifteen. That was too young.  He thought back to when he was fifteen, in school; teasing girls; staying up late to finish his homework because it was due the next morning and he'd neglected it to listen to the ball game on the radio; sneaking out to go to the movies with Steve – it may have been a different time, but all that typical teen stuff was timeless. The media hounded him for a bit after Steve and Sam found him, and it was hard enough to handle as an adult.  He couldn’t imagine having to deal with any of that regularly, at any age, let alone fifteen.

“I’m gonna go settle my bill with Trav then head back to crash on Reid’s couch,” Charlie announced, breaking free from Reid’s embrace. 

“You do know you can have the bed right?  I don’t mind sleeping on the couch?” Reid asked, adjusting in his seat.

“I’m not kicking you out of your bed little brother,” Charlie smiled affectionately, mussing his hair a bit.  “Thanks for the offer though.”

“You have your key?” checked Reid like a concerned parent on field trip day.

“I know where the spare is,” she nodded getting up from her seat.

This was evidently something they did often – Charlie crashing at Reid’s.  Probably did that to avoid the press camped out at her place, trying to get a statement from her about her dad. 

“You want me to come with you?” Reid asked slowly starting to get up from his seat.

“Nah,” Charlie declined the offer.  “You stay. Have fun.  I have a stack of files chalk full of unidentified remains in need of faces,” she added forcing a smile.

“Sugar, leave the drawings for tonight.  They can wait,” Morgan attempted to talk her into staying with the team.

“Derek,” Charlie smiled sadly at him.  “These people have had everything taken from them, including their identity.  They’ve waited long enough.”

Without another word she said her good byes to everyone, assuring Derek, Rossi and Prentiss she’d see them at the office early Monday morning.

“And I’ll see you tomorrow for brunch and the farmers market?” she asked, clarifying with Garcia for their Sunday morning plans.

“I’ll be there,” Penelope beamed excitedly.  “We’re still on for Zumba on Tuesday too, right?”

“Yep, you, me and Reid,” Charlie shot Reid an pseudo-excited grin as he groaned, and slid further under the table.

“Zumba?  What’s that?” Steve interrupted for a second.

“It’s a fitness class,” Garcia explained quickly.  “It combines Latin dance steps, and cardio fitness.  Charlie promised to take me and Reid when they got back from Indiana.”

“You mean pretty boy’s gonna be dressed in spandex doing the shimmy and shake?” Morgan howled with laughter.  “I am definitely going to need pictures of that.”

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Charlie extended the invitation to the table in general.  “It’s actually a lot of fun, and a great workout.”

“I’m in,” Sam answered quickly, surprising everyone.  “I’ve heard good things about Zumba,” he shrugged nonchalantly.  “Besides, there is no way I can be worse at it than these two,” he jerked a thumb in Steve and Bucky’s direction.

“Great,” Charlie nodded enthusiastically.  Reaching into her messenger bag she pulled out a scrap piece of paper and pen.  “Here’s the time and address,” she slid the paper towards Sam.  “Wear something comfy you can move in, and a pair of shoes with good grips on them – and bring lots of water.”

“I’ll be there,” Sam nodded before saying good bye.  Bidding good bye to the rest of the table, for a second time, Charlie got up to settle her part of the bill with Travis.

Rossi immediately got up and followed her to the bar.  “How have the nightmares been?” He asked, leaning against the bar next to her.  “I know they tend to flare up whenever he’s in the news.”

“They come and go,” she admitted distantly looking out at the bar seeing all the smiling faces, enjoying the sounds of idle chatter and laughter. She tried to pass herself off as cool and detached, but she knew Rossi wouldn't miss the tense way she clung to the bar.  The fact was, they were worse than ever, and she was lucky to get more than four hours of sleep a night.  

“You know Charlie, no one expects you to just be okay, not after what you’ve been through.”

“That’s where they’re mistaken,” she replied severely.  She would not be underestimated because of her father's mistakes.  She was stronger than that, they weren't her mistakes.  Despite what some might say, she was _not_ his thirty-seventh victim.  She was a fighter - not a victim.

“Well at least one good thing came from tonight,” Dave shrugged with a knowing smile.

“What’s that?”

“He really does like you - this James. Hasn’t taken his eyes off you all night, and I thought he was going to kill Doreah for the way she talked to you tonight - make sure you give him a chance.”  Charlie’s cheeks burned as she looked back at Dave.  “Speaking of which,” Dave added looking back towards the table, “incoming.”

Turning around Charlie found James, with his jacket on, and hands in his pockets. “I was hoping to walk you to your car – if that’s alright.”

“I took the train,” Charlie explained, his offer taking her by surprise.

“Alright, I’ll walk you to the subway then,” he countered with one of his signature boyish grins. 

“Listen James, that’s really sweet of you to offer, but I’ll be fine on my own.  You really don’t have to . . .”

“Listen, it’s late, you've had a few drinks, and you’re clearly upset.  There is no way I’m letting you walk around the city by yourself at this time of night,” he cut her off.   Jamming his hands into his coat pocket, “I’d do it for any woman.  I swear,” he added, making the boy scout salute with his right hand. 

Chuckling, Charlie nodded.  “Alright you win.  Lets go.”  She motioned for him to follow her to the door.  Turning back quickly she grabbed Dave by the elbow, cutting him off from rejoining the table.

“I’ll see you tomorrow night at your place for dinner?”

“See you then, kitten,” Dave agreed leaning forward giving her forehead a gentle kiss.  He rejoined the team at the table; watching both James and Charlie picked up from where they left off on one of their conversations from earlier, as they head out the front door and into the night.  


End file.
